of solitude, I wish to dream
One hour in twenty-four, at least,
in which no ghosts tug at the roots of my hair,
and no desires trip my feet.
Blank, dark nothingness
is a sweeter nectar,
than visions of love and happiness
that, upon waking, cannot be.
For that of which i do not dream, do not taste,
cannot haunt me in the daylight,
or so the naive mind likes to suggest.
But…once a taste, forever on the tongue.
An empty sugar, such as hollow glass would be.
That which fills my heart with rest,
and yet keeps it melancholy.
February 4, 2013